secrets for all to see
by conventionalfallacy
Summary: She probably shouldn't because he's Stefan's older brother and you don't fuck your friends' siblings. But Katherine's the one who dared her into a skirt this short and Damon makes her daring.


_Delena, AU human!verse. Public sex warning if you're weird about that kind of thing. The first of my birthday porn fics for Kelsey powerlesbian. You go girl, way to be a legal adult!_

* * *

__**secrets for all to see**

Her skirt is about four inches shorter than she's comfortable with and she's never taking a dare from her twin again.

That's probably a lie, because Katherine has a way of getting under Elena's skin the way only a sister can and Elena can't help but rise to her challenges.

Still, it makes her feel better to tell herself that she's not going to get coerced into something like this again, especially not when she knows full well that Katherine's going to abandon her and go entertain herself. As per usual. It's not that Katherine doesn't care, or doesn't want to make Elena happy, because she does in her own way. Equally, though, she's always been focused on herself first. Elena was the one who woke up in the middle of the night when baby Jeremy cried, and Elena was the one who laid down the law with regards to television, computers, sweets. Elena was the one left in charge when their parents weren't home. Not that Katherine ever listened to her when she tried to enforce the rules. With cries of "I'm five hundred seconds older!" (this sounded like more than eight minutes) she would laughingly do whatever she wanted anyway.

It's not that Elena's a prude, she's really not. She was fifteen years old when she completely stunned Matt Donovan, her first boyfriend, by asking if he wanted to have sex. He hadn't known what to do with the question; every social script he'd ever known told him that Elena wouldn't want it, that if he did he'd have to convince her (which he was much too good of a person to do, coercion didn't come naturally to Matt). They had slept together, but that's not the point. The point is that Elena's comfortable with her own sexuality, with herself as a sexual creature and with her own desires. She's not Katherine, though, and when she goes out she prefers to actually be wearing _something_. The clothes can come off in a more private place. But of course she had to go and need to prove to Kat that she is in no way afraid of anything her sister could come up with. And thus, she's attending a party that seems to be comprised of their entire high school at the Salvatore boarding house, wearing only a very short skirt and a skin-tight, thin-strapped, low-cut tank top, courtesy of Katherine's closet.

She can barely pick anyone out through the blackness and the flashing, multicolored lights (where the fuck did Stefan get this kind of ambiance?), and it doesn't quite reassure her that Vicki Donovan is dressed equally as scandalously as she is, if not more so. After all, Vicki is also grinding quite shamelessly against Tyler Lockwood, and his hands are pressed to her stomach, fingers dipping inside the hem of her shorts. Elena turns away. She doesn't need to watch that. Having Vicki and Katherine as her peers, while not the height of shame, isn't exactly a situation Elena's thrilled to find herself in. They're a bit… wilder than she is.

Given the atmosphere, the rampant underage drinking, and the noise, it really shouldn't be a wonder that though she recognizes almost everyone she comes close enough to (some of the freshmen are questionable) that Elena can't find her friends. Bonnie, at least, she would like to locate. Finding out what Caroline and Stefan are up to is a more uncertain pursuit. They might just be dancing or drinking or playing Twister (way more fun when intoxicated). It's equally possible that they're fucking in Stefan's room or in a closet or in public or… No. Much safer to just try and find Bonnie. Katherine's already vanished.

Elena pushes through the thick of the crowd, winding between laughing groups of teenagers, avoiding the circle of showing off they've formed in the center of the room, where the many drunk white boys of Mystic Falls can display just how inept they are at dancing. She doesn't find them. Not Caroline's aggressive enthusiasm, not Stefan's total reluctance to actually party even though he's the one hosting, not Bonnie's bright smile.

The fault for that, though, might better be placed on the owner of the chest she runs into when she's halfway through combing the room. Elena's looking to the side and she takes just one step forward (she would swear up and down that Damon wasn't there the second before) and suddenly he's right in front of her. Her cheek presses against his chest for a moment before she startles backwards and looks up at him. Amused blue eyes meet startled brown ones, and Elena is momentarily annoyed at herself. This is Stefan's brother, this is Damon, and it's not even fair that he still has the power to make her breath catch. She's caught up in that, in the frustration of her continued attraction to her best friend's twenty-three year old sibling. She misses the look he gives her, the softness in Damon's eyes as he registers that it's not just a stranger who's collided with him but _Elena_. It's funny how she always misses that (but of course, she doesn't know. She misses it.)

"Damon." Elena gathers herself and smiles. Surprise or not, she's glad to see him. With his irreverent sense of humor, Damon's never boring. "Have you seen Bonnie?"

"I haven't seen anyone except the idiots ruining the hardwood floors." Despite the humor in the corner of his mouth, he's genuinely irked. Elena wants to laugh. Damon Salvatore, frustrated by the antics of teenagers on hardwood.

"You really shouldn't have let Stefan have a party, then."

He shrugs easily. "I thought it might be the only social interaction Stefan would voluntarily engage in all year. I wasn't going to endanger that by being responsible."

Elena raises her eyebrows. "You know it was all Caroline's idea, don't you?" She wasn't invited to be part of the party planning, but Caroline's good at that and Stefan doesn't like dancing.

"I won't object to the mechanism. Whatever gets Stefan's head out of his diary."

"_Journal_," Elena corrects. She's particular about the turn of phrase and level of disparagement around such terms, considering that she herself prizes her diary. But Stefan considers his a journal, and she intends to respect that. "There's nothing wrong with it, Damon."

He recognizes her tone and concedes. Not apologizing, Damon's not particularly into that, but he nods and for Elena that's enough. "Either way, he needs to have more fun."

Reminded of her original quest, Elena asks, "I don't suppose you've seen either Stefan or Caroline either, have you?"

"Them, I have seen – you don't want to find them, though." He cuts off her next question easily. "I know I've seen Stefan. Some hot blonde was making out with him near the kitchen. If it's Caroline, I'm not getting involved. If it's Rebekah, I don't even want to know."

Elena laughs involuntarily before guilt eclipses her amusement. "It's not funny. Stefan wouldn't do that to Caroline." Rebekah was a whole different matter. After the rumors going around junior year that she was in a sexual relationship with her much older brother, she'd decided that Caroline was involved with that debacle and had it out for her cheerleading co-captain.

"No." Damon shakes his head. "It's not _right._ That doesn't make it not funny."

She pushes him lightly, and he stumbles back a step. Elena's sure it's just for her sake. Damon can handle himself on his feet. _And off of them, too,_ her mind rudely supplies. Having thoughts like that won't do either of them any good. She's one of Stefan's best friends. That places her solidly out of the range of people Damon can have any kind of relationship with.

"That wasn't very nice." Damon playfully frowns. Elena just raises her eyebrows. He extends a hand. "Now you have to dance with me. Make reparations."

"Shouldn't you be the one apologizing?" Elena looks around with a challenge in her eyes. She doesn't mean it, she never does with Damon, but they fall into this ritual of give and take so easily she's not going to back out.

"I take it there's something you think I should be sorry for? We're even on the diary thing." He's so very unrepentant, even when unaware of his sin, and she shakes her head.

"I can see no less than…" Just to make a point, Elena counts, lips moving silently to keep track even with the thundering of the music. "Eight minors who are somewhere on the scale from tipsy to flat out drunk. That's not even including the ones who have been drinking and just aren't showing it. _And_ those are only from the pool of people I can see." She leans close to Damon, gaze challenging. "You, Mr. Salvatore, are in big trouble."

Something flares and recedes in his eyes, a dark heat breaking up the clean, bright blue of his gaze. "Is that your way of politely refusing my offer, _Miss Gilbert_? You can always go see if Stefan and his blonde have become available."

She teeters, for a moment, on the divide between saying yes and no. Damon's older and she's been into him for a while and them having anything is a bad idea (once is an incident, twice is a trend, after all) and part of her wonders if the only reason he knows she's Elena and not Katherine, given the way she's dressed, is that she straightens her hair where Kat uses a curling iron. All of these things make it a terrible idea to accept his invitation to dance. But she might as well. She can blame fictional drunkenness for it later, and they are friends, even if not in the "see-each-other-every-day-share-all-the-same-classes" kind of way. It can't go too wrong. "Alright. But if you're a bad dancer, I'm not letting you take me down with you."

Damon laughs warmly. "_If_ I'm a bad dancer – and I'm not," he declares, "then you can just teach me. I'm sure cheerleading's made you excellent at jumping around in skimpy outfits."

A flush heats up Elena's cheeks, sudden awareness that he's taken note of her state of dress making her want to tug on the hem of her skirt again, even though it would make her look like a child. She remembers all too clearly the last time she bared this much skin in front of Damon and _that_ ended up with the both of them a lot more undressed. He'd shattered her as if without trying and she'd liked it altogether too much. But she was the one to put the brakes on it, not he. He had been going back to college in a month and he was Stefan's older brother and Elena had just known that nothing between them could ever be. No matter how much it hurt.

As if he knows she's about to change her mind, Damon wraps his hand around hers and drags her off. They're pressed amidst a bunch of teenagers and the feel of her fingers intertwined with his consumes far more of her attention than it ought. She can feel the music in her skin and bones, especially when Damon traces his fingers down the curve of her back, barely touching her but still very much around her, and she can smell the spice of him and feel the heat from the closeness of his body. Everything is intensified, this close to Damon (it's probably the aftereffects of looking into his eyes. Consuming doesn't even begin to encompass Damon's gaze.)

Surprisingly, he's as good a dancer vertically as horizontally. Elena is taken aback until she realizes that Damon _is_ a college grad, and not the least bit shy either. There is no world in which it makes sense for him to have separated himself from the revelries of higher education. He's probably danced with a hundred girls just like this. It's hard for Elena to focus on her momentary insecurity, though, because Damon is _fun_ and dynamic and she could get lost in doing this with him if she let herself. They're so close that it's intoxicating and she thinks the lyrics of the music currently playing might reflect that exact sentiment, but she's not quite certain because how is she supposed to focus on music when someone as intense as Damon Salvatore has all of his attention on her.

He grins at the same moment as he skims his fingers up, along her shoulder blades, closer to her neck. This isn't a slow dance, it never has been, and the slight brushes of his touch set Elena alight, heat pooling low in her belly. She's not sure who kisses who first but she suspects it might be her, that her lips might reach up to claim Damon's without her express consent, leave her gasping for air when he reciprocates. His hands find their way immediately to her face and hers close behind his neck and suddenly they're kissing with a kind of hard desperation in the middle of a sea of high school students taking over the Salvatore living room.

Just as before, his lips are as soft as the kiss is fierce. Without a second thought, Damon allows Elena to set the pace. There's no need for her to "take" the lead; he gives it willingly, surrendering to the way she bites his lip, or fists her fingers in his hair with a groan when he slides his tongue across the roof of her mouth. They melt into each other, Elena pressed against Damon's chest. The warmth of him seems to bleed into her, heat suffusing through her body and collecting in her core. Damon has a sexually charged air even in his most nonchalant moments, but like this Elena is forcibly reminded of just how badly she wants to throw him against any available surface, like the wall or the floor, and fuck him until they both can't speak.

They break apart when someone shoves Elena, probably unintentionally. It doesn't feel like a palm, but rather a random and haphazard push. Damon looks down at her heatedly, his hair a mess from her fingers and his pupils almost swallowing his irises. Elena's sure she doesn't look much more together, given that she's not entirely convinced she remembers how to breathe. "We…" She trails off, licks her lower lip (his eyes follow the motion almost worshipfully), tries again. "We were dancing?"

Hope and disbelief and amusement momentarily vie for control of Damon's features before he inclines his head to her. "That we were."

When they come back together this time, the distance is gone. His hands trace Elena's sides, the dip of her waist and curve of her hips with just the right mix of restraint and surety. She wants to moan, to reach out and grip Damon's shirt and rub against him like a cat, even though they're very much in public. Whatever deal with whatever demon he made to be able to set her alight this easily, it was worth it. Torturously, intoxicatingly worth it. Because she's brave, because wearing heels as she is, she can easily reach, Elena presses her lips to Damon's neck, revels in his shudder as she kisses his pulse point.

Never one to be outdone, she only has a moment of throwing him off balance before Damon's fingers run from her hips around the curve of her ass, exploring until he hits bare skin. The rush of desire as Damon traces random designs on the back of her thighs is so unexpected that Elena presses her legs together without conscious decision to do so. He chuckles, the sound as rich and dark as chocolate. Though she's not quite sure if this errs on the side of some strange game of 'chicken' or straight up seduction, either way Elena's not about to be outdone. Even through his shirt, she drags her nails down his back, pressure without sharpness. Damon's eyes flutter closed and he arches ever so slightly. Immediately, Elena discovers that her retaliation was perhaps less well considered than she'd like. The curling of Damon's hands at her touch drags her skirt (already short enough) up even further, the tips of a few fingers slipping unintentionally into her boy shorts.

This time, Elena can't prevent herself from moaning. Her fingers tense on the back of Damon's shirt, pulling them even closer together. She can feel herself getting wet, body aching for his touch, both half-remembered and impossible to forget.

"Elena." He murmurs her name like a prayer before bending down to connect their lips in a searing kiss. Though he pulls one hand back, wrapping his arm around her, the other he leaves far too close to her skin, his nails skimming the outside of her thigh as he shifts the positioning of his touch to the uppermost part of her leg, so close to but not quite at where she wants him.

Both frustrated and impossibly aroused (they go together better than anyone would think), Elena nips Damon's lower lip, pulling away from him with the sensitive skin still between her teeth, just far enough that she can make the barest hint of eye contact before she lets go. They lock gazes for a second and Elena shifts her touch beneath the hem of Damon's shirt. His muscles tense beneath her palms, and Elena marvels that with the energy between them they haven't attracted the attention of everyone around or set the building on fire. Or both. For the first time that evening, she's grateful for the darkness, grateful that everyone seems to have showed up, because she's not sure that she could stop this and she's almost entirely certain she doesn't want to. No matter that it's a terrible idea.

She reaches up to kiss him again and Damon meets her halfway, devouring her with his touch as much as with his gaze. His hand finds its way between her thighs, pads of his fingers stroking the damp fabric of her panties just once. He's asking permission. In response, Elena bucks her hips, seeking relief in the drag of friction. She's become so slick she's sure Damon can feel it through her boy shorts but she can't bring herself to be embarrassed. She's still going to kill Katherine later because _oh_ is this a bad idea but thinking's becoming an inconvenience to pleasure and Elena shuts it off.

They've all but ceased dancing, wrapped around each other in a sea of gyrating bodies, and if they sway it's unintentional. Spurred on by her encouragement, Damon slips his fingers down the front of her panties, seeking out her clit and brushing experimentally against it. Elena whimpers as fire floods her. Her skirt now barely covers her ass, rucked up as it is in front. Hopefully no one's looking, because she can't find it in herself to care that she's potentially flashing the world. Not when Damon's hand has slid even lower, his middle finger just barely dipping into her cunt while his thumb still rubs over her clit. He keeps the pace and pressure moderate, erring on the side of lightness. It's just enough contact to make Elena even more needy, without being enough to bring her to orgasm. And since he's finger fucking her on a dance floor, he sure as hell had better be prepared to get her off.

She groans his name on a roll of her hips, insisting on a faster pace. Wordlessly, Damon complies. His thumb circles her clit, middle and index fingers dipping in and out of her pussy as Elena's nails dig into the back of his neck, as much for stability as erotic purposes. When she looks up to meet his gaze, he kisses her again. This time, it's Elena who's devouring him, mouth slanted against his, the soft sounds they're both making commingling in the limited space between them. She sets the pace, deciding when to pull away or move closer or become entirely distracted because his fingers have hit a spot at the same time that he applies pressure to her clit and her pussy clenches.

He's positively wild looking. The fever in his eyes as he stares down at her and the disarray of his hair and the lust that radiates off of him like shimmering desert air. Elena wants to mark him, to remind him, because he's beautiful and she's been half in love with him forever and even if this won't work she wants this moment because once with him will never be enough.

Sinking her teeth into his neck, Elena rolls her hips demandingly. She bites and sucks Damon's skin like a vampire, letting the join of his shoulder mute her cries as she takes control of his motion. She rocks her hips quickly, fucking herself on his fingers, clit pressing against his palm with blunt but effective stimulation. Damon gets the message. He stills his motions, allowing her to use his hand as she will. Just watches with a combination of awe and lust as Elena brings herself closer to the edge. Her teeth leave his shoulder and find purchase in her lower lip, her head tilted back, eyes closed, neck exposed. The tension in her belly reaches unbearable levels and she moans as Damon pulls her close, trapping his hand between their bodies. On the next thrust of her hips, she briefly feels the hardness of Damon's erection, evidence that he wants her just as much as she wants him. It's enough, between the reciprocated lust, the curl of his fingers inside her cunt and the grind of her clit into his palm.

Damon catches her lips just as she comes, resuming his own motions to prolong her orgasm as Elena shakes in his arms. Her hands are claws on his shoulders, her eyes closed as pleasure snaps through every part of her body, awareness of the world entirely short-circuited. She collapses against him, forgetting everyone and everything, letting her head rest on his chest for a few moments as Damon withdraws his hand from her pussy, straightens her skirt, and lifts his fingers. Elena catches his wrist, raising her eyebrows in an unspoken challenge (they are always push and pull, the back and forth of passion) as she slides his fingers in her mouth. Her own taste is not unpleasant and the way his eyes widen, the unbridled desire in them as he watches her suck on the digits, running her tongue between them, across his knuckles entirely indescribable. It's a rush of power and thrill, because as long as they're damned they might as well go to hell properly.

"Elena."

"Damon." A smile breaks across her face, and she's still shaky from her orgasm but she's standing and he's with her, and the amount that everyone around them seems to matter is not much. They're all wrapped up in themselves, in the pulse of the music that aligns so easily with a heartbeat, everyone in his or her own little world. They make eye contact despite the dark, despite the flashing of strobe that discolors them both.

"Should we…?"

"No." Risky and a terrible idea it might be, but she's decided she's like to make a bad decision and Damon can either go along with it in its entirety or not at all. As always, he's game.

"What-"

"Shh." Bending down momentarily, Elena tugs her panties off over her legs, stepping carefully to get her heels out of them. When she returns to normal height, Damon's staring at her. It appears he's at least decided that trying to ask any questions is ineffective. "Here." Elena deposits her boy shorts, black fabric trimmed with lace, in his hand. "Take care of these."

Damon just gapes for a second, knowing by the texture and the dampness exactly what he's holding. She can see the awareness flash across his face, the knowledge that she's wearing a short skirt in the middle of a crowded dance floor and he's holding her panties in his hand. He tucks them in his pocket.

"I mean it." The impact of Elena's chiding is lessened quite substantially by the way she hooks her leg around his waist, flexibility gained from cheerleading rendering the move easy. "Don't lose them."

Nodding, Damon's hands have already moved to check the hem of Elena's skirt, making sure her ass is still covered, his body shifting in a superfluous attempt to make sure no one can see between her legs. The possessive sweetness makes her smile. Taking advantage of his distraction, Elena pops the button on his jeans in his distraction, sliding down the zipper and pulling out his cock. When she swipes her thumb across the tip of it, spreading precum around the head, Damon shudders.

"Do you really want to?" Concern fights through desire in the blue of his eyes. No matter how much he wants, he won't do this if it isn't right for her.

Elena glances around. No one's paying them the slightest bit of attention. She stands on her tiptoes, so that her breath ghosts around Damon's ear, voice cutting through the surrounding noise without having to yell. "Well, don't draw it out."

Adult wanting and childish glee mesh easily, the forbidden nature of the moment heightening it that much more, giving it an air of getting away with something. At any moment, some drunk adolescent could notice they're not dancing, the lights could go on, the bodies around them could clear away. Anything, really. It's risky, but "they" shouldn't really be happening anyway so they might as well.

In one swift motion, Damon thrusts into her and they both make soft noises of appreciation. Already sensitive from her previous orgasm, Elena's desire mounts again quickly, seeking fulfillment from this kind of sex too. Conscious of the people around them, they press into each other. Elena drags her nails down his back again, making Damon groan before she grabs his ass, directing his motion.

She keeps his movements short, the majority of him still sheathed in her pussy as he thrusts. It's quick and dirty and despite his limited space for leverage, hard. Because they're fucking on a dance floor with Elena's drunk peers all around them and there's no time for delicacy. It's a haphazard race towards completion, hands and mouths and everything working in tandem, and Elena bites Damon's shoulder to keep herself quiet when he hits exactly the right spot deep within her. She orchestrates it all, her entire body working to get him off even as stabs of pleasure make her head thick and her focus narrow. Her cunt clenches around him when she realizes that Damon's doing all in his power to focus on making her come as well. His touch on her breasts and the kisses he places along her jawline combine with their motion into near overstimulation.

They don't have the leisure to take time with each other, but despite the frenetic pace, Elena's still blindsided when her orgasm comes, hijacking her focus and tossing her headlong into a wave of pleasure that steals her very ability to think, radiating outward from between her legs. Moments later, she feels Damon stiffen and then jerk with the release of his own tension. The high of it all makes Elena giddy. She pulls his cock out of her, a secretive grin on her face, and rearranges herself as Damon does the same. Given his very minimal success at making himself look less fucked – clothes straightened or not, his hair's still a mess and the satiated smile won't leave his face – Elena imagines that she's not really fooling anyone either. Certainly she wouldn't deceive Katherine, who has a sixth sense for when anyone's been having sex, especially when they're trying to hide it from her.

"Come on." Damon holds out his hand and Elena takes it without a second thought. He pulls her off the dance floor, away from the people, away from the music and the lights, towards the stairs. Though a few people have made their way up, Elena's surprised to find that everything's dark and kind of forbidding up here. "I told Stefan he could have the party if he personally ensured that all of the furniture, decorations, and rugs were in pristine condition when it was finished and if he kept people out of the upstairs," Damon explains with a frown. "I guess this is good enough."

Elena's been in Damon's bedroom before, when she was seventeen and he was twenty-two and in the winter of his last year of college. She's not sure if that was technically illegal (age of consent can be really confusing) but she decides the answer is "not" because she doesn't want to deal with it. It was more than consensual, that should be enough. And she's hung out a few times, doing homework, talking to Damon, when she didn't want to deal with the world. So she's perfectly comfortable when she goes to sit on the bed and kicks off her shoes.

Damon smirks at her. "Making yourself at home?"

"You have to have brought me up here for a reason." Elena is unrepentant. "And my feet feel like they've been permanently molded into the same shape as a Barbie's feet."

It's that easy with them, easy enough for Damon to laugh at her sass and sit down beside her, pulling her feet onto his lap and massaging circles on the bottom of one, working out the tension. "I was going to give you a chance to clean yourself up. Unless you'd like to drive Katherine home looking like this? She won't resist the opportunity to comment."

Elena makes a face. Kat's blunt even at her most sober. When she's drunk, there's no shutting her opinion up. It will make itself heard, everyone else's consent or no. "Kicking me out so quickly, Salvatore?"

The comment was meant to be light-hearted, just another jest, but Damon's face falls for a moment, hurt etching itself into his eyes before he catches himself. "Didn't think you'd want to stay." His hands remain steady on her feet, gently soothing the ache that comes from time on five-inch stilettos. They go quiet for a moment, then he speaks again. "Shit. We didn't… are you on anything?"

Elena winces. Real world problems. "I can take the morning after pill. I know for a fact that Caroline keeps a stash of them in her bathroom."

Damon's quirked eyebrow only lasts a moment before he shakes his head. "Never mind. She's with Stefan. I don't want to know."

The comfort and ease Elena's laugh brings only lasts a second before fading out again, leaving her wondering where their natural repartee has run off to.

"Do you want to stay?" Damon asks.

She does, but she shakes her head. "I have to drive Kat home. She's going to be in no fit state to go near the wheel of a car."

"I don't mean forever." He turns her around, pulls her against his chest. It feels nice, to be pressed into Damon like this. A stark contrast to having sex in public, which, oddly enough, makes it even more right. "Just tell Katherine to text you when she wants to go. I'm making Stefan shut this whole thing down by at least two am."

"Alright." Elena tips her head back so she can smile up at him, and pulls her phone out of the waistband of her skirt. It's a miracle it didn't fall, given the jostling it got. With Damon watching over her shoulder, she texts her twin. _Text me when you want to go. I'll meet you at the car._

Almost immediately, Kat texts back, obviously intoxicated. _ur welcom. told u it ws good. Say h me. u owe me._

Damon tries and fails to suppress a snort. Elbowing him, Elena replies. _I owe you?_

_4 D. u 2 r so obvs its awk. A+ gettin laid. Now u hve 2 hlp me get s+C into a 3sum. xoxo._

Elena rolls her eyes and stuffs her phone back into the waistband of her shorts. For his part, Damon winces. "Remind me that I don't ever want to read your texts from Katherine again."

"Agreed." She's still not sure where this leaves them, but if Kat thinks they're "obvs", then maybe Stefan has some idea, or could be okay with it. Elena's not certain that just Stefan condoning it would make it possible for her to have a relationship with Damon, but certainly that would help. For the moment, she's content to lean back into his chest and he smiles into her hair and remember that she trusts him. She trusts him and she's happy and for tonight that's enough.


End file.
